Just Another FACE Story
by TheGrammarHawk
Summary: A young Canada sleeps in and America gets France to wake him up. After playing for a while, America notices that something's off with him. Will England and France be able to cooperate and take care of their charges together after they both fall mysteriously ill? Or will this 'family' crumble into nothing? Rated T because of probable swearing and paranoia. FACE
1. Chapter 1: The Start

**Disclaimer: I do not own lovely Hetalia.**

**AN: Another Hetalia story? That was fast. This was inspired by my various readings of stories yesterday. I was searching around, reading lots of FACE stories. I do love that family - so I wrote my own story. (There is little to no FrUk, I like the pairing but I just don't think it's the right time to incorporate it. It's more of a rival-like bromance.)**

...

It had been a very quiet morning. This, of course, alerted France to the situation. England wasn't home, much to his relief and annoyance. The Brit insisted on being there to keep an eye on America and Canada, but he frequently had to be elsewhere, working. France, however, had given up on America somewhat, paying attention to _his_ little brother – Canada. Really, they didn't treat each other like brothers for the most part, with more of a father-son relationship. But France didn't mind.

However, hearing the quiet was bad. The two had the appearance of humans around the age of eight or nine, and they acted with the maturity of such age. Canada of course was a tad more mature and understanding – England had no clue how France had managed him so well.

But, as mentioned before, when it was quiet – and when the twins didn't always get along – that meant that something was very wrong. Either one of them was holding the other hostage, or worse…

That's when he felt a tug on his sleeve. France turned, looking at the pale face with big blue eyes. "Francis, can you help me wake Matthew up? I'm bored and he won't get up."

France sighed, chuckling. So all this time it was just Little America trying to wake up his brother? He was surprised it hadn't been louder.

"Fine, Alfred, I shall see what I can do."

…

The room was dark, the bed that the brothers shared neat. A small bob of dark-blond hair was seen facing away from the two in the doorway.

France went over, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Matthieu, wake up. Your brother wants to play with you." At the soft, familiar French voice, Canada stirred. "Oui, Papa, good morning." His voice was tired as he rubbed his eyes, sitting up.

France ruffled the younger one's hair gently. "Ah, good. But I would like to remind you all that Angleterre is not here right now, so let's not destroy the house…" "Or else big brother will yell at all of us!" America said cheerfully. "That's right…" France said in retort.

…

This was better. The house was filled with the sounds of footsteps and yells as America and Canada ran around the house.

"I'm gonna get you Matthew!" America shouted teasingly, but the only answer he got were the heavy pants from his twin. Canada ran as fast as he felt he could go, and he could feel cold sweat running down the back of his neck. He felt tired, and wasn't sweat normally hot and sticky? This felt like relief.

Finally he slowed down, leaping onto the couch, breathing hard into a cold pillow. "Let's… let's take a break… Alfred…"

America looked at him quizzically. He had just woken up! How could he have been worn out already? "…Okay Matthew. We can take a break, I guess." He sat down on the couch next to him. His hand brushed his ankle… the skin felt hot. He, curious, reached over and brushed the hair out of Canada's face.

France paused as the running stopped. Ah, well, they couldn't have gotten into trouble so quickly… could they have?

He froze when he heard America's concerned call.

"_Francis!_"

...

**AN: What do you think? I hope you all like it. PLEASE R&R! It makes my day to see even one review.**


	2. Chapter 2: From Bad to Worse

**Disclaimer: I do not own lovely Hetalia.**

**AN: And it goes from bad to worse.**

...

He stood up with a jolt, looking through the hallway to the doorway where the little boy stood, eyes downcast. "What is it Alfred? What's wrong?" he walked over to him.

America glanced at his brother, on the couch, who was now shaking. His breathing had rapidly gotten shallow. His little polar bear, Kumajirou, nuzzled him worriedly.

France rushed to his brother's side. He kneeled by the couch, sweeping his hair out of his face. Canada was flushed heavily, beads of sweat seen on his forehead. France gently put his hand to the small boy's forehead.

"Alfred, fetch a thermometer, rapidement!" America came back swiftly.

France gently put the thermometer into Canada's mouth, causing for his eyes to open – France winced. They weren't bright, but instead were glazed over with what must have been fever. The question was how high it was.

After a beep, he removed it. It read _39.1_. America tugged on his sleeve. "What does it say Francis?" France converted it to Fahrenheit in his mind – he knew America would be familiar with it. "…He has a temperature of one-hundred-two-point-three." America was smart enough to know what it meant.

"Papa… I'm tired…" France was amazed at how much weaker his voice sounded from when he had first woken. "Alright Matthieu… come here…" He gently scooped up the boy in his arms, cringing as he felt small fingers clutch tightly onto his shoulders.

He hated how small his brother seemed at this moment.

When they got up to the room, he gently tucked Canada in. In the small trip upstairs, Canada's breathing had gotten worse and he had started coughing. France watched America flinch every time a coughing attack racked his twin's small body.

He turned as he felt America nudge him. He was standing there, quiet for once, and holding out something fuzzy and white – Kumajirou. "I thought… he might want him…"

France smiled, ruffling America's hair before taking the beat and setting it next to Canada. "You're a very thoughtful colony, America." He was offered a small, timid smile in return.

France sighed. It was amazing how willing America was to play nice, even after England had schooled him to hate France. Of course, that couldn't stop America from loving Canada.

He kissed Canada on the head. "Rest, Matthieu. You'll be fine soon enough."

"Come with me, Alfred." He took the colony by the hand, leading him out of the room. They went downstairs quietly. France nodded at the couch, and America sat on it. France then sat next to him, surprised when America put his head on his shoulder and chest, his small hand clutching his knee.

"…Are you alright, Alfred?" He nodded, his eyes dull. "Yeah Francis. I want Arthur, though. I'm scared for Matthew. I don't want him to get worse."

France nodded, looking at the boy's pale face. "How about I get you some water, Alfred, and then we play some cards. Would you like that?" he nodded.

France stood and walked to the kitchen, pulling out a mug and filling it with lukewarm water. He had just started to wonder where the cards _were_ when he heard vigorous coughing coming from a different room.

And it wasn't coming from upstairs.

He turned, eyes wide, and went back to the previous room, only to see America doubled over, eyes squeezed shut, coughing into his hand. Alarmed, he sat next to him, gently rubbing his back. He felt the younger one lean into him, his body struggling to take in air.

"Francis… it… hurts…" he muttered in between harsh coughs, tears in his eyes. "Oui, Alfred, calm down." France said back gently. "Have some water, that will help."

He gently uncurled the colony and put the water to his lips, breathing easing as the liquid touched his throat.

After France removed the mug from him, America calmed and lay still, France still supporting the young colony. His eyes were glazed, and his breathing had gotten slow and calmer. But something scared France.

He gently lifted America's wrist, looking at the hand he had been coughing into.

It was speckled with a bright red liquid.

Blood.

...

**AN: Lire et réviser, s'il vout plait, que la France allait dire. *Read and review, please, as France would say***


	3. Chapter 3: Time to Call England

**Disclaimer: I do not own lovely Hetalia.**

**AN: I love all of you readers, and I love my reviewers especially! Virtual cookies for all~!**

...

His heart rate skyrocketed. America had started coughing up blood. He sat there, frozen, gently holding the small body to him as it calmed to his touch. No, it did more than calm. It physically weakened.

France gently shifted, lifting America up slowly as to not aggravate his breathing again.

He felt America stir weakly against his grip. "Hah… Francis… what… hah… what are you doing…?" He was panting as he spoke.

"Hush, Alfred, just stay quiet…" he gently ran his hand reassuringly through his hair. "I…I want…I want Arthur…" the voice sounded small and terrified. "I…I feel… all wrong inside…"

"Oh yeah?" France said mildly as they climbed the stairs, "Can you tell me what feels wrong?" He wanted to try and distract him from whatever was going on.

"…I...It burns… my throat… and I feel… hot and dizzy… and sick…Francis… make it stop…" he whimpered it pitifully. He had never spoken to France this way. Whenever he had gotten scared or upset, or had hurt himself – it was always England.

And that was who he needed now.

France slowly pushed the door open to the dark room, laying America next to his unconscious brother. The big blue eyes tried focusing on the older nation, but were unclear and tired. "Close your eyes," France whispered softly, giving him a small smile. He turned to leave – he _had_ to call England.

He was almost out of the room when he heard "N-No, don't l-leave… please don't leave me alone…" America sounded scared. It only unnerved France more. "I promise I'll be right back, Alfred. And you aren't alone, Matthieu is here. It'll be okay, don't worry."

When there was no reply, France left, disconcerted.

He almost ran to the nearest phone. He picked it up, fidgeting as he listened to the ring.

_"Hello? Who is this?" _"Arthur, it's me." _"Dammit, it's been a while since you've called me by my actual name. Normally you call me that stupid French thing… 'Angleterre', wasn't it?" _"Listen to me, we are in the middle of a serious situation–" _"What, did you manage to frighten one of them? No, I bet you pulled one of your moves-" _"Tais-toi un instant fichu et écoutez-moi!" the shout startled England, stopping his mocking laughter.

_"…Pardon?"_ his voice was much quieter on the other side. France sighed, pinching his nose. "I _said_, 'Shut up for a damn moment and listen to me!' Something is _very_ wrong with Alfred and Matthieu."

Silence, then he heard the voice again. _"…I'm listening Francis."_ "First it was Matthieu, the boys were playing in the morning and he just stopped, Alfred came and got me and he seemed very worried… Matthieu was burning up." _"Did you check his temperature?" _"Yes, it was thirty-nine-point-one degrees Celsius." _"…That's…fairly high…" _"Yes, I know. I put him to bed and he started coughing a lot, but I got him to sleep. I went downstairs with Alfred, who was being very quiet, and I went to get him some water – he started coughing and he was coughing _up blood_. Now he's in bed, but he didn't want me to leave him alone… but he wants you, and he's very afraid Arthur and honestly so am I…"

The Brit had gone silent. France didn't normally talk like this… he fooled around but this was different. There was no way this could be a joke.

_"…I'll be back as soon as possible."_

...

**AN: R&R lovelies! The more reviews I get the more I'm motivated! That goes for any of my stories!**


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